


The Roommates

by orphan_account



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, New York City
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 05:13:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5151563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU Regina and Emma are adult roommates. Not in college. Both work at non disclosed jobs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Apartment Number 2B: Regina Mills

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimers  
> These characters curse inappropriately and are ignorant of the potential of dating each other.  
> They are prone to irrational actions and there are scatological references as well.  
> This story features quasi consensual bsdm sexual situations between adults, some m/m, f/f and m/f relations.

My roommate, Emma Swan pays her part of the rent share on time. I have to say that over and over to remind myself why I don't kick her out on her _A double scribble_.

Some roommates can be too clingy, Emma thankfully isn’t.

Some roommates have substance abuse problems. She thankfully doesn't.

Some steal, she doesn’t.

Some lie, not in her nature.

Others are antisocial. Emma definitely doesn’t suffer from anti-anything.

My roommate, Emma is a pig. Neither in the Miss Piggy sense nor in the porcine. They are neater than she is. Emma is an inconsiderate, bovine who takes up more space than that to which she has been allotted. When she steps out of her clothes in the living room, they stay on the floor until I, in disgust, toss them into her room and slam the door shut. Like I get my kicks stepping over her assortment of jackets, bags, shoes, and keys all over the living room carpet. What does she use her closet for anyway?

I can hear her keys in the outer door locks.

And there she is… my roommate, Emma. She nods at me with her mid-length curly blonde hair. I nod back in acknowledgment. I can see an assortment of envelopes in her hand. Hmmm, she must be looking for something. She rarely picks up the mail. And there’s the toss (of envelopes) on the coffee table. One, two, three, four…she drops her black leather hobo bag and matching jacket to the floor. She sifts through the mail.

Thank goodness, she has the decency to limit this childish behavior to her outer clothing. I would have asked her to leave a long time ago if I found her panties or bras all over the floor.

The music starts as she flips the stereo remote control button.

Chill out electronic music rages in the background.

She must be going out! Good, I’ll be able to start the new M. R. Carey book I downloaded from the library tonight.

I’ll throw her things in her room, take a long hot oil bath, wash my hair, make a large cup of jasmine green tea and read. I’ve been waiting for this all day, counting the hours at the office until the weekend begins.

Five, six, seven, eight she kicks off her red high heel sneakers.

One hits the couch, the other hitting the wall on the other side of the room.

I grimace wondering how long she will leave it in that spot on the floor, propped against the wall. It probably made a scratch mark on OUR clean eggshell finish wall!

She disappears into her room; I disappear into my annoyance.

I go to my tan and red bathroom with matching towel sets and wooden hamper, wooden toilet seat cover. I close the door and sit on the toilet. The urgency to void is irresistible. As I push my waste matter out, I exhale deeply for the first time today. With the flush, I am truly myself. I wonder if all I have to endure all day has built up inside only to be released. I laugh. I can come up with so weird shit and make it seem plausible. Still sitting on the toilet, I run the tub water, adjusting the temperature then switch on the shower head. The water pulses out rhythmically and for a moment I’m lost deep inside staring off beyond the water spewing forth, beyond the tiled wall behind it. I am in the zone. I go there often whether I want to or not.

A loud knock pulls me out, and I’m thrown back in time. I’m a schoolgirl and my mother, Cora loudly jars me out of a particularly deep zone because I’ve been in the bathroom for forty minutes and will probably be late for school if I don’t hurry up.

“Mama who? Who is in there with you?” A familiar female voice asks.

Did I answer? I wonder if I’m having an epileptic fit.

Someone is questioning me from beyond the bathroom door. That impudence pulls me forth into my adulthood.

“I’m in the bathroom,” I reply.

“Well, that’s why I’m yelling at this door instead of your bedroom door,” Emma counters.

Why is she bothering me? Keep paying your half of the rent on time and keep your damn clothes up off the floor. That’s all I need from you. I tell her mentally.

“Just tell me what you think about this outfit,” she continues.

“What is with this girl bonding shit? I’m in the bathroom,” I repeat. I mean come on; the bathroom is private time. Time spent cleaning; grooming, reading and most importantly bring to an end, the temporary relationship between you and your waste. This is sacred time. How could she not know this?

“Yes we’ve established that little fact earlier in the conversation,” she retorts sarcastically.

Her cool points rise in my eyes. I smile.

“I want your opinion,” Emma demands from behind the closed door.

By now the bathroom is so full of mist from the hot water, all reflective surfaces are fogged up. I grab my thick, soft terry cloth robe and wrap it around my body.

I open the door wide enough to stick my head through. So does the steam.

I look at her outfit. Then I look at her eyes. They are smiling. Then I scan that outfit again. She can’t be serious? She strikes a pose! I can’t believe what she is wearing! It is all black leather, fake coins and chains. Coins and chains hang from the girdle hanging around her wide hips. As she moves, the coins tingle together as though they are laughing. Her leather bra almost fails to cover her ample bosom.

One word comes to mind: Slut.

She smiles. Apparently reading my mind, she states, “No slut shaming allowed! I look amazing don’t I?”

“Honestly?” I ask.

“No. Lie to my face,” Emma demands. Sarcasm seems to be her flavor of the evening.

“If you aren’t raped, it must be a slow evening,” I remark.

Her PC remark, “Women should be able to walk the streets naked without being attacked.”

“Between what should be and what is, you keep trying to create what should be; I’ll live with what is,” I retort. Sometimes I’m too deep for my own damn self.

“Then I’ve got the right look,” she replied, ignoring my brilliant assessment.

“What do you mean by that?” Me, being defensive.

“Well you are a bit on the boring side. I’m going for the complete opposite of you,” Emma answered.

“Boring? Who are you calling boring?” I retort while quickly exiting my bathroom cocoon. I ruin lives daily at the JOB! I recall as one of many of my duties the multibillion dollar and rising insurance company. Under my watch, we NEVER pay out! I pout mentally to myself.

“Tonight is Friday and what do you have planned? The same thing you do every Friday night: A cup of tea and a book…for the past two years,” she remarked walking back to her bedroom.

I stand silently as she walks out her bedroom and grabs her keys off the plush peach carpet with Scotguard™ protection.

She turned to smirk at me.

I wish I could slap that smirk off her face. She left shutting the door behind her. I stood there staring at the closed door for a good two minutes before sending a high command to my limbs to move. I heard her lock one of our four locks. Just the one? Is she trying to get us robbed as well?

I stood there with my anger jumping around at the back of my throat, wanting desperately to yell but it didn’t help not having someone right there to vent at.

I quickly moved from the living room to the kitchen. There was her sneaker still propped up against the wall as I past by it. I noted that I didn’t pick it up.

Automatically, I turned on the cold water, filled the teakettle and set it down on the gas range. I watched the blue flame explode under the kettle. Cool blue.

Who did she think she was talking to? As the whistle of the kettle sounded, the engine of revenge in my brain revved up. I decided how to exact my revenge. I smiled, as various ways to punish her popped into my mind: an internal movie, just for me.

While slipping my tea, I gazed out of the window to the street below watching the traffic flow on the avenue.

I knew my plan would succeed because I as well as she knew me, I knew in detail the habits of my intrepid roommate, an insatiable thrill seeker named Emma.

I drank the dregs of my cup and uncharacteristically left it in the sink without rinsing it out. I re-entered the bathroom. I turned the hot water off in the shower and left the cold water on. I jumped in and forced myself to submit to the icy fingertips jabbing at my body.

I lathered down with soap, first my breasts, my arms, and my back, legs, between my legs, both front, and back. Ice ran over me until it burned my skin. I jumped out of the shower, dried my body off with a thirsty towel, brushed my teeth and my hair and walked out naked into the hallway leading to my bedroom. I looked at my body in my full-length mirror. I approved. I put on undergarments, then a pair of loose fitting black jeans, a silky black T-shirt and black boots. I looked at myself again in the mirror. I spray a beguiling scent into the air then stepped into its mist. I grabbed a black, silk cloth from a top drawer of the dresser near my bedroom door and left the room. I grabbed my long black raincoat and keys, locked ALL FOR LOCKS as I left the apartment.

As I walked down the street towards the subway, I fingered my Metrocard in my coat pocket. At the entryway to the trains, I swiped my card, zipped through the gate and skipped down the stairs.

The train came quickly and so I entered the open doors and sat in one of the seats designated for the elderly or handicapped, defying anyone to ask me to move. The train flew through the tunnels going downtown. We reached my destination in no time at all. I walked towards the meatpacking district. I was propositioned not once but three times by homeless men and randy teenagers to suck their genitalia. Not feeling remotely thirsty, I declined their generous offers. EYE ROLL!

I approached the entrance to the Dungeon, an S&M club regularly frequented by Emma. I entered, paid my fee, checked my coat and donned my black silk ski mask and matching gloves. The only openings of the mask were for my eyes. I moved through the crowd slowly drinking in the atmosphere. In the center of the floor, one man was on his hands and knees, while a woman straddled him like a horse. She prodded his ass with a wooden boat to make him move forward, which he did at a jerky pace. In the corner, two men were pouring some unknown liquid into the mouth of another on his knees before them. Most of the beverage? flowed down his cheeks like tears then down his throat.

The spectators surrounding them were enthralled, nonetheless.

I climbed some stairs negotiating the various hands groping me and I happened on a dimly lit lounge area where Emma had a captive audience of a single male slave. I stared at her until she acknowledged my presence but my simple disguise rendered me unrecognizable. She looked at me then past me to the couples behind me. I just stood there staring back her.

I was a stone. Her stone.

My inanimate state made her increasingly uneasy for she could not read my intentions. She took her discomfort out on her slave.

Watching her so intensely, I had unnerved her. Nevertheless, her curiosity won her over as she approached me.

“Listen, same sex play is so last year. Find another chick who's behind the times,” she remarked.

I continued looking at her.

“If you want to watch then that’s fine with me,” she conceded.

She turned leasing the slave him into a private room. I followed them.

The room was dimly lit with fake candle-lighting fixtures. The bed had dingy bedclothes and had thin posts on both the head and footboard.

Apparently, she was topping him, putting him in various states of discomfort for his pleasure. His frustration was his delight and her annoyance. Then came the moment I had been waiting for: he was to pleasure her.

She allowed him to blindfold her.

At that moment, silently, I “encouraged” her “slave” to leave the room. I refuse to discuss how any of those bruises he wore upon leaving the space got on his person. I surmise he’s clumsy at best.

I took two pairs of handcuffs off a nearby table and quickly locked her hands and ankles to the bedposts.

With a jerk of her limbs, she quickly realized her situation. “MF you had better get this shit off me or else!” She exclaimed. I slowly removed her blindfold and gagged her with it. Wide-eyed she stared at me as I removed her clothes. Effortlessly tight leather pants peeled down towards her cuffed ankles and her partially “working bra” snapped off with ease. Breasts flopped to opposite sides of her quick rising chest. She struggled fruitlessly against her bonds. She tried unsuccessfully to prevent me from spreading her legs. I went down onto her stomach.

I pulled up the mask covering my mouth and licked circles around her belly button. She didn’t know whether to be terrified or to enjoy it. Slowly I licked down and up. Round and round creating loops and circles. She jerked and moaned through the fabric in her mouth. Abruptly I stopped. I stood up from the bed and stared at her. She was motioning with her hips that that she wanted me to continue or set her free. I resumed my assault on her belly button then slowly towards her clit, and began to gently bite it with my teeth. After a marathon oral session of frustrating her until she came, she was exhausted.

I untied the gag in her mouth. I sat in a chair and watched her slowly recover.

Emma opened her eyes, looked at me and said, “That was awesome! May have to revisit the same sex thingy this year! Untie me I have to go to the bathroom.”

I didn’t move nor respond.

“No fooling I really have to go,” she exclaimed.

I gestured for her to do so.

“I can’t go here! Are you crazy!” Emma exclaimed.

Now if you looked closely at those sheets I’m certain it’s seen more bodily fluids then the public toilet at Penn Station.

She looked like she contemplated screaming but considering where we were she knew no one would pay it any mind.

Behind my mask, I smiled. She saw the futility of her situation and let go the floodgates. As she lay there in her own waste I wonder if she felt more herself than she had all day.

She began to cry, silently.

She leaks more than information coming out of the Pentagon, I thought asI moved towards her, very gently I wiped her clean with some wet wipes I brought with me and gently wiped her eyes with the cuff of my sleeve.

I released her from her bonds.

Silently, I left the room while she was putting on her clothes.

I collected my coat and left the club to begin my journey home. This time I took a cab.

Eighty dollars later, I climbed the stairs in front of my building, opened the main door and let myself into the apartment. There is my roommate’s sneaker still propped up against the living room wall.

I removed my coat stuffing the mask and gloves in the pocket, picked up her paraphernalia off the living room floor and tossed it into her bedroom, then shut her bedroom door.

I removed my black outfit and stuffed it in my hamper.

I donned my thirsty terrycloth robe and turned on the water for a bath.

After the water reached a nice warm temperature, I poured some Sandalwood scented bath oil under the running tap. I went back out into the living room and turned on the stereo. Coltrane’s A Love Supreme flows and the apartment is suddenly full of a melancholy mood.

I retrieved my tablet from my bag on my way back to the bathroom. I removed my robe and slip into the hot oil water.

I floated away for a moment before opening the book to begin reading:

> “Her name is Melanie. It means ‘black girl’… but her skin is actually very fair… she thinks it’s not such a good name for her. She likes the name Pandora a lot but you don;t get to choose.”

What a great beginning! I am quick sucked full body, into the story of a girl with many gifts but a hard the carry name. The locks on the door interrupted my reverie. I sigh.

Emma is home. I glance at the clock on the wall over the bathroom door. It’s 1:45 a.m. Goodness, I must have been reading for nearly an hour! She’s home earlier than I expected. I hear the rustling sounds of her movements slightly muffed by the music still playing.

The door to my bathroom slowly opens: Emma stares at me.

“Yes?” I ask.

She looks down to the tile floor then back up at me.

“I think I’m in love,” she exclaims.

“Love’s nice if you can get it,” I reply.

I attempt to get back to my book. She won’t let me as she continued, “She left and didn’t give me her name or any way to contact her!” She exclaimed.

“She?” I asked, in mock surprise.

“I know I can’t believe it either. I gave up women months ago! She was incredible. I never came so hard in my life!” She exclaimed.

“You seem to be mistaking lust for love. Are we done? I’ve got a more interesting girl I’m working on right here,” I respond, gesturing with my tablet.

“That’s your problem: Hiding in books and baths… you have no passion for real life,” Emma snapped as she stormed off.

I smiled and returned to Melanie and my hot oil bath.

Epilogue: My roommate reports that she hasn’t seen her true love since that night. Since this phantom seems to have vanished, I suggested she go back to men as conquests. She thinks I’m homophobic. Whatever. Yet what my roommate lacks in her love life she continues to pay her rent on time and an added bonus: she has begun keeping her shit in her room and not all over the apartment. Bookworm: One. Slut: zero.


	2. Apartment Number 2B: Emma Swan

Couples. 

Sitting in my bedroom, looking through the window, all I see around the block are couples. Couples in love, couples fighting. Couples making up. Couples breaking up. It seems as if everyone is part of a couple but me. I have a good life, somewhat. I have a job that pays well; I live in a great neighborhood in the city. 

I have friends. I have a cool social life. I had a cool social life. I used to have dates lined up throughout the week. I was happy. At least I thought I was happy. I want my delusion back! 

Damn that bitch! I can’t believe she practically raped me then disappeared without a trance! She’s a criminal! She should be punished for what she did to me. Me! I have been dreaming about her everyday since. Hoping she would do it again and more. Who was she? I’m tormented by my emotions and my roommate, Regina laughs at me.

Regina’s older. Trying to find out how much older is tougher than robbing a bank. I've robbed banks it really isn't that difficult. 

She extremely attractive and she always looks amazing but she really doesn’t care how attractive she really is. Annoying. Why have the attributes of a sex goddess and never exploit it? She probably never fell in love, let alone had any truly inspired sexual experiences. She lives vicariously through my life and now she laughs because she doesn’t understand the true depth of love and passion. 

She thinks I’m a slut but at least I was having more fun than she was. She wouldn’t know fun if it sat on her face.

Where is my true love? Why hasn’t she come back to the club? Those moves she made, what she did to me, she has to be a member. All I can remember about her was her scent. She had a perfume on that was very familiar. I can’t place where I smelled it before.

It was intoxicating feeling her lips on my body and smelling her scent mixed with that perfume. Is that the only way I will find her again? I can go around the city sniffing the air. They’ll put me in the nut house if I do that. I’m going crazy not knowing who she is, where she is or if she’s ever coming back into my life.

A muffled thud startles me. 

I look over towards my bedroom door. From behind the slightly opened bedroom door, Regina’s long slender French manicured hands toss various items onto the floor into my room. 

“Are you done?” I ask

Regina popped her head in to my room, uninvited: Her reading eyeglasses, reflecting my room back to me.

“Didn’t know you were home. Would you keep your stuff in your room and not all over the living room floor? Lately you have retreated to your pig-like behavior,” she droned on. Blah, blah, blah, on and on she goes about my stuff. 

I pay my rent don’t I? I should be able to leave my stuff anywhere I want. I only started being neater to organize myself to find my true love. Where is she? Wait is she a she? She could have been a he? An effeminate he? I wonder. 

“All I ask is for your consideration. I’d like to be able to walk into the living room without stubbing my toes on your clutter,” she continued.

“Look if I wanted to hear a lecture I’d live with my boring parents. Go read a book!” I yell.

"if you’re so miserable here, why don’t you move out. I could find a much neater roommate,” she yelled back.

What is her problem? Its just stuff. Sometimes she makes me so mad I could hit her. I know better not to carry that thought out. 

Regina has a third degree black belt in both Shaolin Boxing. She studied Capoeira. She probably has to drop kick the interested into ignoring her unfairly sexy ass. If you're sexy, sex should be had by all. What nuttery do I exist in?

“I need to get out of this nut house! I need to find my love! You stupid neat freak!” I respond, childishly.

She pushed the door open almost ready to kick my sorry ass then re-considers it (thank goodness) and leaves my room in a huff. A few minutes later, some more of my things are tossed into my room.

A familiar scent.

I sniff the air in my room. That scent is intoxicating. 

I follow it’s trail out of my room into the living room, past the couch, past the dining area, down the hall to my soon to be ex-roommates room. 

I stand in the doorway of her bedroom.

She is sitting cross-legged on her floor dusting and organizing her extensive book library. Need I say more?

She immediately senses my presence and turns towards me with a scowl on her face. 

Those damn reflective glasses again.

“What do you want?” She snapped.

“What is that scent?” I asked.

“What scent?” She asked.

I sniff the air of her bedroom. Now the scent is very familiar. My lover wore it at the club! 

“That scent book nerd!” I retort.

She narrowed her eyes at me. 

“You need not resort to name-calling. You probably smell my perfume, you diseased whore,” she exclaimed. 

She gives me one of her characteristic; Humph sounds and returned her attention to her tidy work.

I have to smile at that one. She can get dirty when necessary.

“What perfume is that? Where did you get it?” I ask. Finally, I had a clue to find her or him! Definitely her. No guys I know would wear this scent.

"One customarily acquires perfumes at a department store. Although, if desperate enough you can get a watered down version from a street vendor," she sarcastically replied.

“Remember the woman who I’m destined raise two Portuguese Water Poodles with? My soul mate? My true love? The one from the club?” I elaborated.

“Yeah I vaguely remember you going on and on about your bizarre friends at that den of depravity,” she replied. She continued arranging her books on her shelves.

“Well she wore the same perfume you wear,” I exclaimed as though I made the discovery of the century. Couldn’t she see what a breakthrough that was for me?

She abruptly stopped her work, paused then slowly turned to face me.

“So, you are going to track down someone by his or her scent?” She asked. “That’s ridiculous!” She added.

“Why is it so ridiculous? Police find people all the time by their scent,” I exclaim. She should know this. I am certain mystery books are plentiful in the mass quantities of books she's always reading!

“Suit yourself. I hope the police will be able to assist you,” she abruptly changed the subject. “I am expecting company tonight… I’d thought you’d be out for the evening,” she added.

“YOU have company? Is it your turn to host the book club of the month?” I laugh. 

“No. (long pause) I have a date,” she replied.

I laughed so much I nearly threw up! 

She had a date! I stared at her deadpan face and begin laughing again. She has a date? She can’t be serious. 

“Don’t you have some law to break? Some undiscovered sin to add to your long list of wrongdoing tonight? Perhaps someone to help you move out?” She added hopefully.

“I’ll just do that,” I proclaim turning my back to her to walk back to my room. 

Practically homeless now, I begin packing my stuff up immediately. Then a wave of nausea tickles the back of my throat.

Something is not right in the world when my fine self is pining over my love and I’m practically now out on the street, while this book-reading bitch gets some action. Action which incidentally isn’t my amazing self? Did (God/Yahweh/Allah/Zeus/Shiva or whatever the all mighty is calling herself this millennia) change the channel away from the Emma Show?

I begin to cry like children do when a favorite toy is snatched away. 

Through the blur of my tears, it dawns on me how to get my revenge on Regina’s mean, unsympathetic ass.

To be continued…

**Author's Note:**

> Electronic music playing when Emma first left their apartment: Helios by Darius feat. Wayne Snow  
> The book Regina was reading is amazing: **The Girl with all the Gifts** by M.R. Carey


End file.
